


At the Gate

by BrynTWedge



Series: Under the Influence [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, M/M, Mycroft hates flying, Pre-Relationship, Sleeping Pills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 19:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18763102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrynTWedge/pseuds/BrynTWedge
Summary: Greg encounters Mycroft at the gate of a long flight home.Mycroft hates flying. Once aboard, he takes enough sleeping pills to keep him asleep for the whole flight.Then they have to disembark.What's Greg to do with the British Government, asleep on the floor of the very public gate, when they need to board?





	At the Gate

Greg stretched as he stood from his seat. He pulled his phone out of his pocket as he heard the text alert. 

**EK407.1B. Arrived at Gate. Seize the opportunity, Detective Inspector.**

He frowned at the message. That was his flight, but not his seat (1B was first class, there was no way he'd afford that). He looked out of the window, but there wasn't a plane at the gate. Even if it was a general alert for the flight to board, the last part of the message wouldn't have been included. What opportunity? Who had his number?

His questions were answered not long after he took a cursory glance at the boarding gate. There stood none other than Mycroft Holmes. 

Greg's stomach flipped. Of all the people he could have run into, it was the man he was pathetically in love with. Who, unfortunately, never seemed to pay him much attention the few times they interacted.

He considered just ignoring the elusive text and the equally elusive man. But, he couldn't help but wonder what it was that Anthea (because it was undoubtedly her) meant by her text. His face flushed red as he realised that Anthea must know of his attraction to her boss. 

* * *

Mycroft's heart was hammering uncomfortably. He wasn't even on the plane and he was having trouble breathing. He didn't hate flying by any means - he hated being trapped inside a thin metal tube with hundreds of other people.

He patted his pocket, ensuring that his sleeping tablets were still there. He had to wait to board to take them, but the anxiety from the other passengers crowding him at the gate was testing his ability to resist. Anthea had told him not to take them for some reason, but there was no way he was going manage a fourteen hour flight without being unconscious for most of it. 

"Hello, Mycroft. Fancy seeing you here."

Mycroft froze at the voice. _No,_ he thought. _No, it can't be._  
"Detective Inspector."   
"Greg."  
"Gregory," Mycroft said with a smile that he hid with a grimace. 

Mycroft didn't want the dear Inspector to realise how infatuated he was with him. It was bad enough that the silver haired detective occupied his thoughts on a near-daily basis.

"What brings you here?"  
"Work. Yourself?"  
"Visiting family," Greg answered with a smile.   
Mycroft's heart lurched at the sight of that warm gaze. If only he could see it closer, in more private scenarios. "I hope you enjoyed yourself."  
"Yeah, maybe I could join you after take off and tell you about it?" 

Mycroft swallowed uncomfortably. He would very much like to sit and listen to Gregory talk to him, and only him, for hours to come. However he also didn't want the man to witness his weakness regarding his panic over flying. Mycroft opened his mouth to respond, however he was interrupted before he managed to speak. 

"Mr Holmes, if you would come this way for boarding?"  
"Ah, yes, thank you," he said to the woman who had approached him from behind. He then turned back to Gregory. "I do hope you enjoy your flight, Gregory."

It didn't escape his notice that the man's face fell when the question posed remained unanswered. He didn't want to make it appear that he _didn't_ want company, however the prospect of not taking his medication for the flight was too terrifying a thought for Mycroft to consider. 

_It would hardly be of any benefit to either of us to have him witness a panic attack._

* * *

Greg belted himself into his seat and prepared for the plane to taxi. He'd been disappointed that Mycroft hadn't given him an invitation to spend time together for the flight, but he figured the airline's rules regarding economy passengers spending time in first class wouldn't permit it. He hoped that was the only reason that Mycroft had hesitated. 

They'd barely taken off when an announcement came, informing the passengers that the plane was returning to the airport due to a medical emergency. Unfortunately, they all had to disembark and wait back at the gate. 

Greg peered towards the front of the jet to catch a glimpse of Mycroft. He knew he shouldn't be pleased that someone was seriously ill, however it did provide him with the perfect opportunity to spend more time with Mycroft. 

When Mycroft walked out, he looked uneasy. _Probably not impressed with the delay. He'd have his time scheduled precisely, no doubt,_ Greg thought as he followed the masses off the plane. 

"Round two!" Greg announced as he strolled up to Mycroft. The man jumped almost imperceptibly, as if he'd not noticed Greg's approach.   
"Gregory, hello."  
"Hi." 

Greg stood there for a few moments, waiting to see if Mycroft was going to continue talking. The man generally filled the silences between them or left, and so it was strange for Greg to remain standing before him without conversation. 

The more he looked at Mycroft, the more he realised that something wasn't right. His movements were sluggish and his posture was drooping. Greg's face twitched into a frown.   
"Are you alright?" he asked.   
"Fine," Mycroft muttered. His eyes were starting to loose focus, however.   
"You don't look fine," Greg responded. He had to stop himself from reaching out to grasp at his arm.   


"I am merely anxious to return to my seat so that we may be underway," Mycroft said. He made a noticeable effort to stand up and behave normally, but it wasn't fooling Greg.   
"You don't look anxious, Mycroft, you look tired."  
"Perhaps I shall sit down, I have not managed much sleep lately. Work is all-consuming."

Greg's concern grew as he listened to the slight stretching of vowels and gentle slur of Mycroft's words. Part of his brain reminded him that Mycroft couldn't be the medical emergency they landed for, as he wasn't receiving any medical attention. Another part of his brain worried that whatever had befallen the ill passenger was contagious. 

He followed Mycroft over to the seats and sat beside him. "You were fine not long ago, though."  
"Mmm," Mycroft hummed.   


Greg bit his lip. He didn't want to make a fuss, and he knew that he was likely overreacting to the situation because of how emotionally attached he was. Still, for Mycroft Holmes to merely hum a response was cause for concern. 

It was with shock that Greg looked over to Mycroft when he felt a weight upon his shoulder. Mycroft had leant his head against him. _Is this actually happening?_  
"Mycroft?" he asked, hoping it wasn't awkward to interrupt.  
"Mycroft?" he asked again after receiving a non-committal noise in response. 

Greg shifted to face the man leaning more and more heavily upon his shoulder. He started to panic that something seriously wrong was happening. _Is this a stroke? Poison? No, that's not like this... it's like he's just falling asleep, but in public..._

"Mycroft!" Greg snapped, reaching up to shake Mycroft's shoulder.   
"I'm here," Mycroft mumbled. He jumped to sit back upright.   
"What's happening?"  
"'S fine," came the answer, before Mycroft closed his eyes again and started to drop to the other side.   
"It's not bloody fine," Greg retorted. He tugged at the material of Mycroft's shirt to keep him upright.   
"Just shhhould be on... plane."  
"Yeah but we can't."  
"Sleep... people, so... air... not bad, but... can't, not with... so took..." 

Mycroft slumped forward. Greg leapt out of his seat and caught him before the man fell to the ground.  


"Shit," he mumbled to himself. Didn't Mycroft usually travel with an entourage? Where were they?  "Mycroft I need to call someone."  
"No, no," the man mumbled before him with his eyes closed. "'S fine, just pills."  
"Pills?"

Mycroft nodded and snorted as he breathed in. 

"You took sleeping pills for the flight?"  
"Mm."  
"Why? Oh, you don't like flying, do you?"   
"Mm."  
"Why didn't you just say?"   
"Mm."  
"Mycroft?"

Mycroft's breathing was evening out to a slow rhythm as he lay in the chair. _So, he took pills to knock him out for the flight, but then was made to get off early after he'd taken them._

Greg bit his lip again. He didn't know what he was supposed to do now. He knew that Mycroft would undoubtedly be mortified that this happened once he awoke. The question that remained was if he'd be _more_ uncomfortable with strangers helping him get back on the plane, or if Greg did it. 

"You must have some strong bloody pills on you," Greg mumbled to himself. "You probably shouldn't be taking them on a flight."

He returned to his seat beside Mycroft. He couldn't help but notice how adorable the man looked when he slept. The worry lines had disappeared and he looked ten years younger. Greg permitted himself a fond smile as he stared at his crush. 

Mycroft began slowly slipping down out of the chair. Greg awkwardly pulled him back up, only to have him then flop forwards and threaten to face plant the floor. Greg managed to catch him in time, but the result was Mycroft's slender body draped over his own. 

_This is not how I pictured him laying on me._

He pushed Mycroft back into the chair. The fabric of his suit must have been smooth, since he slipped back down towards the floor again. Greg sighed and tapped Mycroft on his cheek gently, hoping to rouse him enough to walk at least away from the crowd of people, who were pointedly trying not to watch the scene unfold but failing very badly. 

Mycroft jumped at the sensation but didn't wake. Instead, he jerked enough to entangle an arm in the armrest of the chair so he skidded sideways when his foot came out from under him. 

Greg stood up and groaned. _This is utterly ridiculous. Is this actually happening?_ He couldn't help but wonder if he was the one who'd fallen asleep, and was dreaming this instead.  
"Come on, Myc," Greg grunted as he bent down to lift Mycroft back up. "Myc, on your feet."

Mycroft was unable to stand, but Greg was unable to keep a tight enough hold. He somehow managed to rid Mycroft of his suit jacket as the man fell back down onto the chair. 

"Ok, I think it's time to call the stewardess," Greg said, mostly to himself, as he stood there holding Mycroft's jacket. A voice in his head told him to call Anthea first - he was too terrified of that woman to do anything she might find wrong. 

"Detective Inspector, I really didn't expect to have to expla-"  
"Where's Mycroft's minions?"  
"I'm sorry?"  
"Or you."  
"I'm in London. Mr Holmes is travelling alone."  
"Oh that's bloody brilliant."  
"Why do you sound upset when you say that?"  
"Because he took those bloody pills!"

"That's unfortunate. It seems you will have to leave him sleep. Say, how _are_ you calling me?"  
"The flight had to go back to the airport."  
"Oh dear."  
"Yeah, you're getting the problem. He really shouldn't be knocked out this much. So can you organise somewhere for him to stay-"  
"Why?"  
"Anthea, he's currently in a pile on a chair, slipping to the floor. He can't walk on the plane and we're boarding any minute."  
"Detective Inspector, he has to be on this flight. He has very important meetings scheduled that cannot be delayed."  
"Then what do you expect me to do? Drag him to his seat? Wait, can I do that?"  
"Do whatever needs doing."

Greg was about to protest, but the call for anyone in need of boarding assistance came over the loudspeaker. _Well, I think this definitely qualifies.  
_ "It's done," Greg said quickly and hung up. 

Greg pulled Mycroft upright, but he just slipped down again. Greg sighed, but remembered that he had his baggage strap in his hand luggage. He pulled it out and threaded it between both of the chair arms and across Mycroft's chest, binding him tightly. 

He walked up to the desk, pleased that his idea had worked in keeping Mycroft steady.  
"Hi, I need a wheelchair." 

The stewardess looked at him, confused, and then behind Greg to where Mycroft was. "Of course, sir." She then called a colleague to bring a wheelchair over to where Greg was. 

The older man arrived and looked between Greg and Mycroft, whom was still fastened upright in the chair.   
"Thanks. Obviously he can't walk on board."  
"May I see his ticket?"  
"Oh, uh... I don't have it. He's Mycroft Holmes, seat 1B," Greg said, remembering Anthea's text.   
"And you are?"  
"Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade," Greg answered reflexively. 

The gentleman's eyes blew wide. "Oh, of course, Detective Inspector. Do you need assistance getting this man in your custody into the chair? Otherwise, I will escort you aboard with priority as soon as you have secured him."

"Oh," Greg said, about to correct the man, but then decided that letting that slip counted as 'whatever needs doing'. Mycroft would appreciate as few people as possible watching him. "Great, thank you. I'll just get him on and then we can board."

Greg managed to unfasten his strap and quickly transfer Mycroft's limp form onto the chair. He then clipped the strap back around Mycroft's chest since he thought he might as well keep up the image of escorting a criminal when it did help keep Mycroft upright. 

The passengers all gave them a wide birth as the steward wheeled the chair past them in step with Greg.

"Detective Inspector, why did you not require assistance the first time boarding?"  
"He was awake then," Greg chuckled.  
"I see." 

Greg shifted Mycroft out of the chair and into his assigned seat.   
"He really shouldn't be left alone," Greg said, not wanting to leave Mycroft unconscious.  
"Certainly not. Do... do you mean to say you are not remaining to watch him?"  
"Oh, no, I'm out in the back. Economy for me."  
"1C is also reserved under Mr Holmes' name. Is this not where you are located?"

Greg shook his head in disbelief that Mycroft had booked _two_ first-class seats just so he wasn't sitting beside anyone.  
"Well, I can stay here instead and keep an eye on him," Greg offered. Mycroft wasn't awake to say no, after all.  
"Certainly sir." 

The steward left, and Greg stretched out in the first-class chair.  
"I could get used to this," he chuckled. 

* * *

Mycroft slowly blinked awake. He saw that he was laying in the bed upon the plane. _Oh thank goodness, it was just a dream_. Mycroft shuffled, glad that he hadn't embarrassed himself in front of the good detective. 

His eyes fell upon the seat beside him, which was decidedly _not_ vacant. His heart suddenly started pounding. 

"Oh, Myc, you're awake. Did you know you talk in your sleep? You shouldn't knock yourself out like that. You'll get clots."  
"That is a fallacy," Mycroft grumbled, still groggy.   
"Is it now?"  
"Research shows that it is the air quality rather than the long periods of immobility that causes deep vein thrombosis," he answered without thinking.  
He then frowned. "Wait. What happened? Why are you here?"

"You don't remember?"  
"I fear I fell asleep in the gate."  
"Yep."  
"I believe then that I owe you for getting back on board?"  
"Nah," Greg said with a grin. "You don't owe me. I got a first class seat from it."  
"Yes. How, in fact, did that happen? I am certainly not apposed to the company, merely curious."  
"Oh, they all think you're a criminal too dangerous to be even conscious while separated from passengers on a flight in my custody."

Mycroft didn't know how to react. _What?_ "I... that's... what?"  
Greg laughed, and the mirth that radiated from him was infectious. Mycroft couldn't help but smile.   
"Sorry," Greg said simply. "I'll explain to them what happened... or we can just have your bodyguards meet us at the gate and say nothing."  
"I see no reason to cause a fuss," Mycroft found himself saying. He didn't want to do anything to cause problems for Gregory. 

"Uhh... you may be expected to be handcuffed when we leave."  
"Do you _have_ handcuffs on you?"  
"Nothing that'd count as standard issue."

Mycroft dropped his jaw in shock.  
"Jesus, Myc, I was _kidding_ ," Greg stressed with a laugh. "You think I'm that kinky?"  
"I... hadn't... it's not something I... think about. I-I wouldn't know what, uh, _interests_ you have." 

Greg gave him a sly smile, and then asked, "Would you like to find out?"

 


End file.
